


shadow weaver, kissing girls

by hipsquare



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Biting, F/F, Kissing, Marking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24503704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hipsquare/pseuds/hipsquare
Summary: A collection of drabbles and ficlets ft. Shadow Weaver engaging in lesbian activity aka kissing (and sometimes, a little more than that) girls.
Relationships: Castaspella/Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner (She-Ra)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 169





	1. shadow weaver/castaspella

**Author's Note:**

> these will usually be from prompts, whether they're generated by me or for a community. but honestly i just wanted her to kiss and maybe have sex with girls a lot. i'm gay and love the evil milf. happy pride!

Casta wasn’t sure what to say when Shadow Weaver unmasked herself. She’d demanded her to. ‘If you’re not a coward, you’ll show me who you are underneath there! It’s the least you could do for me, after what you’ve done to my family. To me!’ Honestly, she hadn’t expected Shadow Weaver to actually comply.

Her face. It — it made a pit form in Casta’s stomach. For years upon many more years, Casta had only seen Shadow Weaver’s mask, stuck in one perpetual expression. It was much easier to see her as ‘inhuman,’ then, and it had been so long since Casta had seen what her eyes looked like.

They were disfigured, her pupils all in different jagged shapes and lines. They’d looked so very different when she was Light Spinner. There was no way that Castaspella could ever forget those eyes, and yet they looked so unfamiliar to her here.

It was her eyes that disturbed Castaspella more than the deep scars on her face, the punishment she’d been given in her quest for power. Eyes were the windows to within, and remembering that Shadow Weaver of all women had a soul made it harder to hate her.

( _I hated her so much. They all looked at Micah instead of me, because of her. I hated her because she left me. And I hated her because..._ )

Yet despite barring her disfigured features, ones that Casta would personally find shameful to divulge, Shadow Weaver smiled wickedly. Fangs poked out from mangled lips, and she shoved her body into Castaspella’s.

Casta let her. 

Shadow Weaver’s claws gripped her thigh and spread them open roughly. Her teeth went to Casta’s neck and bit down, as if to silently say, ‘you made me do this.’

“Is this what you wanted?” Shadow Weaver whispered roughly, her breath hot on the tender skin of Casta’s neck. Casta shivered and pushed her body into Shadow Weaver’s through their clothes. “For me to pin you down like this, to take you on the tent floor?”

Casta could not find it in her to refute, to refuse. She’d been so angry at her — had been so angry that it was Micah who had been taken by Horde Prime, had been so angry that Light Spinner had used Micah for her own wayward goals, and she was angry that Shadow Weaver made her feel this way all her life.

( _She made me feel like I could not hate her._ )

Shadow Weaver was marking her up. She bit into Casta’s skin, piercing her with sharp teeth; surely leaving swollen, bloody red marks.

It was for all of the Rebellion to see. Casta had insisted, and so Shadow Weaver gave. 

Shadow Weaver was angry. That made two of them.

“Do not forget, Castaspella. You asked for this,” Shadow Weaver reminded her when she lifted herself up from the crook of Casta's neck, voice husky and dark, before her fingers worked their way into Castaspella’s undergarments and swiftly pushed themselves inside of her.


	2. shadow weaver/castaspella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shadow weaver KISSES the girl in a fic called 'shadow weaver, kissing girls'. shocker!
> 
> something a little softer this time.

“...Light Spinner,” Castaspella said softly, surprised at how little her voice was, (not quite too surprised, however, since the woman in question had just fucked the daylights out of her, and she was still catching her breath minutes later). Shadow Weaver was still above her, arms on either side of Casta’s shoulders.

Shadow Weaver did not appear at all bothered by Castaspella addressing her by her former name. It had become — _common,_ when they’d meet like this, for Castaspella to do so. Casta had first done it out of anger, and habit, and now it was, for the most part, the latter.

“Hm?” Shadow Weaver responded leisurely, running the backs of her knuckles against Castaspella’s heated, flushed skin. Castaspella wondered why Shadow Weaver touched her in the way that she did, after they had sex. Was it to feel the way she had afflicted Castaspella? 

Castaspella wanted to lean into that touch. She did, nearly. But she stopped herself. Silly, in comparison to what it was she was about to ask.

“There’s something on your mind,” Shadow Weaver spoke again, flipping her hand over to instead caress the side of Casta’s cheek. “I can tell from the crease between your brows. Go ahead.”

“...I don’t need your permission,” Castaspella said, though her venom fell short and just left her feeling smaller. Shadow Weaver, again, was not affected. “To speak.”

“That is true, but does in fact not take away from you having something to say. Come, out with it, then.”

Castaspella pressed her lips together, feeling her lipstick stick when they pursed.

“You… do not kiss me,” Castaspella finally said.

Shadow Weaver tilted her head, interest piqued. “Is that what has been troubling you all this time?”

“It has not been ‘all this time,’” Casta shot back, but her head tilted to look up at Shadow Weaver, to look at her bare face, cursed with ugly scars. At the same time, Casta could feel it — that crease between her own brows, and so she tried to soften her expression up on account of not wanting Shadow Weaver to be _right_ about her ticks and quirks. “But, to answer your question, yes. It has been on my mind.”

Shadow Weaver moved her hand from the curve of Castaspella’s cheek to her chin. With her thumb, Shadow Weaver tilted Casta’s chin up towards her. 

“Do you want the truth?”

 _You do not speak the truth,_ Casta meant to say, but she’d been proved wrong in that area before. Shadow Weaver had spoken the truth — about Arxia, about the magic in Mystacor that the First Ones had drained, about the lies of the sorcerer's guild. 

And she hadn’t betrayed them — _her_ — yet.

( She’d already done so once before. )

“There’s no need to be mysterious,” Castaspella said, perhaps in a moment of attempted dry humor, but she felt her heart rate speed up a little, anticipating Shadow Weaver’s next words.

“...” 

Shadow Weaver looked down at Casta in a way that made Casta feel like she was devouring her whole. And maybe she was — maybe she always had been, grinding her down skin to bone from the inside.

And then she leaned down and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss. Far gentler than what should have come from the likes of Shadow Weaver. Yet Castaspella could not focus wholly on the sensation of the kiss itself, but instead, was overwhelmed by the swarm of feelings that bubbled up within her all at once. Shock, delight, fear, repulsion — a need for a deeper, more intense kiss, and yet for Shadow Weaver to kiss her gently like this for so much longer.

Yet it ended as quickly as it began, before Castaspella could even begin to sort out what it was she felt.

Shadow Weaver’s lips quirked upward. More than a smirk, though less than a smile.

“I felt I did not deserve it. Did not deserve… this,” Shadow Weaver said, now tracing her thumb over Castaspella’s plump bottom lip. “But if you wish it, then I will no longer hold back.”

Emotion swarmed within Castaspella. She tried to grasp comprehension of what Shadow Weaver meant. Did Shadow Weaver mean to imply she felt — guilt? Apprehension? That she had any sort of conscience? Castaspella could not sense any of that in the way that she fucked her.

Yet she reached up and grabbed onto the red cloth of Shadow Weaver’s robes, pulling her down close again.

“Don’t, then. Don’t hold back,” she whispered, and so Shadow Weaver claimed her lips again: rougher, more properly, this time.


	3. shadow weaver/castaspella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [femslashficlet's](https://femslashficlets.dreamwidth.org/) prompt challenge #264: 'scent.'
> 
> Shadow Weaver is apparently a canon metaphor for homophobia, according to Noelle! So what better way to 'celebrate' than to write her with her girlfriend Castaspella. A little short but I wanted to get something out there!

The request should have been simple. ‘ _I_ _want you to hold me,’_ Castaspella had said to Shadow Weaver, cheeks tinted a painful red in the apples of them as she spoke. It ached in her face, so much so that she wanted to rub it to halt the pain.

It wasn’t appropriate. It never would be — so why should Castaspella wait? She was lonely. She’d been lonely for years, an emptiness in her heart after what Light Spinner had done. It — _she_ — was the core of all of her life’s woes: the way Light Spinner had toyed with Micah’s life, and in turn, doomed Castaspella’s. She felt it every time she walked by that damned state of her in the halls of Mystacor, dirtied and worn.

Shadow Weaver had agreed, and for that Castaspella wasn’t sure of whether to be thankful for. She’d worn a toothy, characteristic smirk on her face. ‘ _To think you’d crave something so intimate,’_ she’d chuckled, and Castaspella turned, then, to march out of her tent in humiliation, when Shadow Weaver caught her hand. She grasped it in hers, squeezed, said: _‘Stay with me. I will hold you, as you wish.’_

Castaspella was even lonelier in the war. This time, however, she actually had Light Spinner — Shadow Weaver — beside her, rather than taunting her from a distance with her memory. She was here, in the flesh, physical and tangible enough for Castaspella to actually touch.

Their relationship had blossomed strangely in the few weeks since Casta visited the rebel camp. Tense flirtations and lingering touches became the norm until they festered; until it became — _this,_ whatever _this_ was, with Castaspella tangled up in Shadow Weaver’s arms, trying to feel the warmth of a body that barely had any left to give.

Shadow Weaver’s layers of robes smelled of pine, her grey skin of earth. Castaspella only hoped that when she finally departed from Shadow Weaver’s lonesome tent that it was discrete enough, and that nobody picked up on the scent of her that still surely lingered.


End file.
